A Bar of Soap! Holiday Edition
by Fatality
Summary: 25 vignettes featuring your favorite ABOS cast, and the antics and hilarity that lead them to Christmas day!
1. December 1st - Lights

December 1 – Lights

It was the first of December, and quite honestly, very few of them had ever had cause or reason to celebrate Christmas. Wolf and Falco were often on assignment for their respective employers during the holiday season, and the rest of their housemates either came from places where Christmas didn't exist or had little interest in traditions. Yami, the reincarnation of a thousands-year-old pharaoh, had a fascinating perspective on how Christmas had changed from the days of the Egyptian dynasties to the present and so had a great deal many stories to tell, but it was Vick who convinced them all to delight in the winter months.

"Christmas is my favorite holiday!" she told them enthusiastically over breakfast, which she had helped prepare in her excitement – their pancakes had been shaped like Christmas trees, a feat that had shocked them all. "You can't tell me that you're not going to celebrate it, because we're going to whether you like it or not!"

That was the short version of the story that ended with Kirby, Wolf, Meta Knight, and Sonic standing out on the dead front lawn with boxes of lights at their feet, staring up at the three-story mansion as though they had just been ordered to scale Mount Everest with toothpicks and dental floss.

Sonic nudged the one of the boxes with the toe of his shiny red running sneaker. "Any of you ever done this before?"

"Easy on the lights there, rodent," snapped Wolf, his single authentic eye narrowed. "We'll have a whole other problem entirely if we break any bulbs – unless you're a licensed electrician, which I highly doubt."

Sonic conceded the point. "So… what do we do, anyway?"

Meta Knight was leaning on his jagged golden sword; the tip of the weapon was sinking slowly into the cold earth underfoot. "I have seen pictures of houses adorned with lights in my long lifetime," he admitted uncomfortably, "but I have never chosen to partake in decorating my own home."

"I think the lights go around the edges," Sonic offered lamely.

Wolf rolled his eyes. "Really, genius? Thank God you're here, I was gonna put them in the hot tub."

"We drained the hot tub in October."

"Yeah, and maybe I'll fill it back up and chuck you in it with the lights plugged in."

"This banter does nothing to help the situation," Meta Knight argued. "We must focus."

The lupine mercenary commander was examining what appeared to be a weather readout on his scouter; the backlit mathematical figures reflected in his eye strangely. At length he told them, "Yeah, we've got to get a move on. There's a winter storm warning in effect for Mushroom Kingdom beginning in about two hours, and if we can't get these damn things up before then it's not happening. Period."

"Okay," Sonic agreed. "So let's get started."

They all nodded and made various grunts of assent, but no one moved.

"Well, we're off to a good start," said Wolf with a dark little chuckle, and he crossed his arms.

Kirby had been staring down into the box nearest to him all the while with a wildly curious expression on his cherubic face – Meta Knight had been trying to keep a close eye on him, for he was certain that Kirby was about to try and eat the entire box – when at that moment he reached one of his stubby pink arms into the box and produced one end of a string of lights with an incoherent chatter of victory; as they watched he bounded across the yard with his familiar childlike enthusiasm and halted in front of the closed three car garage. He surveyed the drain pipe that wound down from the gutter for a moment with real consideration before inhaling once deeply, puffing himself up to his maximum size, and flapping his tiny free arm with the speed of an overgrown hummingbird he floated up to the peak of the garage and alighted there with a sharp exhale and a chirp of triumph. The others watched him, impressed, and started to unwind the other strings of lights and lay them out on the lawn.

"So we'll start at the garage then, and snake an extension cord down to the plug in on the deck?" asked Sonic, and Wolf shrugged.

"That sounds doable." The lupine straightened, slinging a bundle of rolled-up lights over one shoulder, and added, "My biggest concern is how the hell we're gonna get the lights to stay in place. How do people usually do this? I mean, I guess we could tape the strings down at regular intervals…"

"Electrical cords get warm when they're in use," Sonic pointed out. "Fire hazard."

"…Or we could use thumb tacks…"

"And what, just poke sharp objects through live wires? That sounds safe. Do you know _anything_?"

Wolf glowered at the sapphire-quilled hedgehog, who privately admitted to being intimidated by him but physically didn't back away; near the garage, Meta Knight was helping Kirby drag the rest of the strand of lights he had chosen onto the roof, and both of them were impossibly tangled. "Alright, what's your master plan?"

Sonic considered, tapping his chin with his index finger, until at last an idea struck him and he snapped his fingers. "Got it. We can use a staple gun. There's a staple gun in the house somewhere, isn't there?"

"Do I look like Ty Pennington to you? I don't use tools. If something needs breaking, I shoot it. If something needs fixing, I shoot it. Naturally my first instinct for these lights is to light them up with my plasma rifle, but something tells me that wouldn't work so well. So why don't you scamper on in the house and figure it out yourself, and I'll try to keep the Wonder Twins here from a death by asphyxiation."

"Fair enough," said Sonic, and he turned on his heel and dashed through the front door.

The living room was a disaster area; it appeared that Blaze, Midna, and Marth had been swindled into hanging strings of lights from the handrails that lined each interior staircase, and it was fortunate that Sonic stumbled upon them when he did for Marth was holding what looked like a half-used tube of super glue.

"Don't tell me you're going to _glue_ the lights to the _woodwork_?!" Sonic shrieked, and dashing over at top speed he knocked the tube from Marth's slackened grip. "Are you out of your mind?! We don't own this place, man, it's a rental! When you ruin the woodwork they are going to charge us out the _ass_ to get this repaired!"

Marth appeared to be about five seconds away from tearing out his hair; one of his eyes was twitching now. "Well what's your plan, genius?!"

Sonic had to admit, he was getting tired of being called a genius in a sarcastic tone of voice. "Our plan is an outdoor sort of plan – besides, where'd Vick run off to? This was her idea. Make her play Ty Pennington in here, why don't you?"

"Who the hell is Ty Pennington?"

"He's the host of Extreme Makeover Home Edition. Don't you ever watch TV?"

"Yeah, ESPN. SportsCenter. Maybe you should catch a little more basketball and a little less Hallmark channel."

"Extreme Makeover Home Edition doesn't air on Hallmark."

"Yeah, well, you would know. Twat."

This time, Sonic chose not to retaliate. "Any idea where I might find a staple gun?"

Marth snorted in a most undignified way. "That's your plan?"

"Hell of a lot better than super glue," Sonic reminded disdainfully, and instead of waiting for a proper response the hedgehog hustled out into the garage with a mutinous mind to find what he needed without anyone's help.

The garage was little used and no one bothered to park their cars in it; once a vehicle was inside it was nearly impossible to back it out again to get it on the road, for almost everyone that stayed at Brawlers Mansion had their own car and chose to park in the driveway or the street for accessibility's sake. Everything else that cluttered the dank space had been supplied to them by the leasing office; simple tools for the upkeep of the house, mostly, and little else. He found a spring-loaded staple gun in one of the half-rotted drawers of a makeshift tool chest, and lining up his shot he tested it on an empty soup can that looked as though it had once been used as a waste oil deposit; he crowed victoriously when the staple nicked off the can, and so took his new find gleefully back out to the front yard.

By this time Kirby and Meta Knight had lined up several rows of lights where they wanted them and were waiting patiently on the roof for him to arrive; Wolf had a string of lights plugged into the outlet on the front porch and was cursing when Sonic stumbled upon him, for even though the strand was plugged in only half of the bulbs were twinkling.

"You break something?" asked Sonic with a snicker, and it was fortunate for him that Wolf was so engrossed in his task or he may have been punched in reply.

"Fucking piece of shit Christmas lights," the lupine was muttering mutinously under his breath. "Did you know that when one of them goes out the whole fucking string goes out? How in the hell do I fix this?"

Sonic shrugged. "You replace the bulb that's broken. Or find the bulb that's loose and tighten it."

"There are about a million fucking bulbs on here. How am I supposed to figure out which one is causing the problem?"

"You've got me," said Sonic remorselessly, and with Wolf cursing at his back the sapphire-quilled hedgehog sprinted up the vertical face of the side of the house and stopped beside Kirby, who was chattering for him to hurry for the air was growing chiller by the minute. He actually listened to the Dreamlandian's odd indiscernible language for at least half a minute before remembering that only Lucario could understand Kirby when he spoke, and then he broke in. "Can you just point out where you want me to staple, and we'll go in intervals?"

Kirby beamed up at him broadly – perhaps he had been trying to say that all along? – and gestured with one of his stubby arms before pulling the strand taut; Sonic knelt down beside him, lined up the staple gun, squeezed the trigger, and _ker-chunk_ – the staple was embedded into the shingles, and it held the string fast. Kirby clapped, Sonic chuckled, and below them, Wolf struck up with a renewed round of cursing.

Things went a little more smoothly after that; they finished the garage in no time, the eaves of the second floor after that, and the four of them convened on the sundeck to plot their schemes for the third floor eaves. Wolf's mood had scarcely improved; he had dragged the defective string of lights up to the sundeck with him, for in order to finish decorating the mansion's exterior they would need every strand they had left, but he was no closer to finding the design flaw now than he had been before.

"We'll put that one up last," Sonic told him impatiently, for the wind was beginning to kick up and it was noticeably colder now than before. "Keep working on it, and we'll put up the rest."

"Why don't you work on it, rodent, and give me a turn with the staple gun." Wolf's arms were crossed, his face adamant. "You've been hogging it all morning – it's my turn."

"We don't have time for this," Meta Knight growled, furling his wings in an attempt to keep warm.

Wolf and Sonic both ignored him, and this time the lupine made a grab for the staple gun. "Fork it over!"

Sonic danced out of the way easily. "Fix the lights and maybe I will!"

"Why don't you fix the lights and I won't break your face?" snarled Wolf, and lunging forward he caught the hedgehog's forearm with his savage claws and tore open the top layer of skin.

Sonic reacted completely on instinct then. The pain was intense, and the moment his torn skin hit the cold air his entire body moved spasmodically – including the index finger of his dominant hand, which was still resting upon the trigger of the staple gun. It happened so quickly that he couldn't even begin to stop the impulse – one minute he was shouting in a kind of strangled agony, and in the next instant the staple gun was firing in his hand.

Suddenly, Wolf was screaming. "HOLY SHIT! GODDAMMIT! ARGH, ARE YOU FUCKIN' KIDDING ME?" For there were no less than six staples now embedded in his right thigh.

And that is the story of how Wolf was shot with a staple gun six times, twenty four days before Christmas.


	2. December 2nd - Holiday Music

December 2nd – Holiday Music

It was a cozy evening in Brawlers Mansion, and the day had been strangely uneventful – the storm that had been brewing the day before had blown itself out before reaching Mushroom Kingdom, so as yet it was simply chilly without any snow on the ground. There was a fire burning in the fireplace and Marth had just been elected to go and chop some more firewood – he had lost a game of rock-paper-scissors with Link for the misfortune of doing so – ; the heavenly smell of Kirby's gouda-stuffed chicken was wafting out of the kitchen, and the radio was playing softly in the background. Vick, Blaze, and Lucario were immersed in a one thousand piece puzzle depicting a log cabin standing impervious in the middle of a blizzard, and Falco had just settled into one of the plush armchairs near the fire with a bottle of Dos Equis in one hand and half a mind to sleep right where he sat for the night.

"Ooh, I love this song," Vick squealed from the rickety card table where they had set up their puzzle pieces, and reaching out she dialed up the volume of the sound system; Lucario and Blaze had never celebrated Christmas before, but Falco recognized the tune right away – it was the Twelve Days of Christmas, and it was probably his least favorite holiday song of all time.

"Urgh, are you kidding me?" he whined, sipping at his beer in an effort to quell his annoyance. "This song is just plain bizarre. I mean, what kind of sense does it make? What is it even about?"

Vick fumed in her chair and turned the volume up a little louder to spite him. "What are you talking about?! It's a song about someone's true love giving them gifts for the holidays! What's bizarre about that?!"

Falco sat up a little straighter, but there was no way in hell he was giving up his recliner now that there was a fire roaring in the hearth. "The gifts themselves are bizarre. Have you ever actually _listened_ to the words? Take the very beginning, the partridge in the pear tree bit. What's up with that? You can't _just _give someone a partridge, or a pear tree, like, separately? When did those two things become a package deal?"

Pit, who was visiting for the holidays with Rosalina, poked his head around the kitchen entryway – he had been helping Kirby prepare dinner, and Rosalina was laying out place settings. "What are you guys arguing about?"

"Back me up, angel boy – why's a partridge gotta be in a pear tree at all?" Falco asked with a tip of his bottle.

Pit wrinkled his nose before pulling out his cell phone. "I have no idea… let me Google it."

"You're seriously Googling the meaning of the partridge in the pear tree?" asked Vick skeptically, ogling at him.

"Why not?" said Pit, and he set to tapping on the screen with quick movements before briefly scrolling through the results and selecting one that looked promising; the others waited with a menagerie of expressions, ranging from avid curiosity to utter boredom. "Yeah, here we go… Interesting. From 1558 'til 1829, Roman Catholics weren't allowed to practice their religion publicly. Seems somebody back then wrote the song as a catechism song for young Catholics."

Falco was dumbfounded; the hand that held his beer had grown slack, and his beak hung slightly open. "…As a _what_ song?"

"I'm on it," Vick assured, and her fingers were already flying across the screen of her own cell phone as she perused the Internet for the answer; Blaze and Lucario exchanged a confused glance before shrugging and returning to sifting through various puzzle pieces. "Yeah, here, dictionary dot com… Catechism… Well, the ecclesiastical definition is 'an elementary book containing a summary of the principles of the Christian religion, especially as maintained by a particular church, in the form of questions and answers'."

She glanced up at Falco haughtily as though that should settle the matter, only to find him looking more perplexed than before. "…The hell you just say?"

"Ecclesiastical. Churchly. Clerical. Take your pick."

"I feel like you need subtitles," Falco admitted honestly, tossing back a considerable swig of beer before glancing back to Pit. "And you just gave me a really short history lesson – you didn't answer my question about partridges and pear trees and why they're so tight these days."

"Not sure you want to know," Pit told him, and he was scrolling slowly through a wealth of information with his nose wrinkled and his eyes narrowed. "It's just more religious undertones... And since you're basically the Antichrist I'm not sure you'd be interested."

Falco kicked his feet up and utilized the recliner in full with a sigh of relaxation. "You're catching me at a good time – I'm pretty chill. And besides, Vick's got us all on board with all of this Christmas crap, so why not? Beam me up, Jesus."

"Your funeral." Pit sat cross-legged in the kitchen entryway, his nose only an inch from his phone. "General consensus is that the partridge in the pear tree is symbolic of Jesus. Throughout history, Christ has been represented as a mother partridge feigning injury to protect her nestlings, which is a metaphor for Christ's sadness at the fate of Jerusalem."

It was a good bit of information and of course no one doubted him – Pit was rather knowledgeable, and his wealth of random information was astounding – but after half a minute of complete silence Lucario voiced the question they were all entertaining. _…What's the significance of the pear tree, then?_

Pit shrugged. "No clue. That was the number one rated response."

"And it doesn't say anything about what the pear tree represents?" Falco asked, dumbfounded, and Vick threw up her hands.

"Why are you so hung up on the damn pear tree?!"

"Because they could've used any fucking tree they wanted to, so why did they choose the pear tree?!" Falco howled, gesturing wildly with his almost-empty bottle. "Why not an apple tree, or a beech tree, or a goddamned bonsai? Was Jesus a pear farmer or something?!"

"He was a carpenter," Blaze interjected matter-of-factly, and Falco stared. "Even I know that much. Do you know nothing?"

The avian chose to ignore the question of his intelligence. "Okay, so he was a carpenter. Carpenters need wood for their work, right? You get wood from trees - "

"Excellent deduction, Sherlock," Vick snickered beneath her breath, and Lucario laughed into his paw.

Again, Falco chose to ignore the remark. "So does that mean that pear trees produce good carpentry wood or something? Quality pear tree wood makes for stellar cabinet construction? What is it?"

"It's possible that you're reading too much into this," Vick pointed out sarcastically. "It probably has no significance. They chose the pear tree because they only had room for a specific amount of syllables in the verse. Call me crazy, but I think it was just catchy – plus, how many partridges have you seen nesting in bonsai trees in your lifetime?"

Falco rolled his eyes but conceded the point, and turned his attention back to Pit; the angel was still holding his phone aloft, the cool blue light of the screen reflecting the interest in his eyes. "Alright, Gabriel, what does the rest of the song mean?"

"It's all in a similar tone," Pit confessed, not bothering to look up when he spoke. "Very religious."

"More religious than them casting a partridge to play Jesus and the tragically misunderstood pear tree?"

_I'd like to hear_, Lucario put in. _It would be nice to know a little more about this holiday._

"I agree," Blaze added, and Vick beamed around at them as though her birthday had just come early.

Pit stretched his wings luxuriously and hunched over his phone. "Okay, well, the two turtledoves are symbolic of the Old and New Testaments. Historically, two turtle doves represent friendship, devotion, and earthly love. It may also be a reference to the two natures in Jesus, the human and the divine." He paused as if waiting for Falco's rebuttal, but the avian waved him on so he delved further. "Three French hens could be a reference to several things: the first is the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, the next is the three gifts from the three Wise Men present at the birth of Jesus, but two turtledoves can also be symbolic of faith, hope, and charity, which have long been considered the three chief theological virtues."

"So Jesus was friends with Aristotle," Falco interjected. "Totally legit. No reason to question that one. Continue."

Pit scrolled, his eyes skimming the screen. "Four calling birds derives from the Four Gospels… Five golden rings refers to the first five books of the Old Testament, which are considered the most important of the entire text."

"Hold up." Falco came forward in his chair. "Who decided that the first five books of the Old Testament are the most important? And why is the Old Testament mentioned in this song _twice_? I think the son of God was showing a little favoritism there."

…_Did you just accuse Jesus of favoritism?_ asked Lucario, dumbfounded, dropping a few puzzle pieces onto the carpet in his surprise.

Falco shrugged noncommittally. "I'm just saying it's a possibility."

"Okay, here's where it gets interesting," Pit broke in. "Six geese a-laying can either mean the six commandments of the Church or the six days of creation."

The other members of the household that hadn't been present for the start of the debate were wandering toward the kitchen by now, for Kirby was very punctual when it came to preparing meals for them, but those who were hanging on Pit's every word didn't move a muscle; Falco kicked the footrest of the recliner down and leaned forward, his elbows resting upon his knees and his empty beer bottle forgotten in the built-in cup holder of the armrest. "Okay, ignoring the ridiculous notion that the six commandments of the Church are supposedly being represented by _geese_, of all creatures… There were _seven _days of creation."

This statement was so absurd that no one could find the words to respond right away. Finally, Vick swallowed hard and attempted to address him. "Uh, no, Falco, there are six. Why would you think there are seven?"

"Because there are seven days in a week, aren't there? It took The Man seven days to make everything BOOM, start to finish. If there aren't seven days of creation, what's the seventh day for?"

"Rest," Vick said simply, as though this should settle the matter.

Falco cocked his head to one side. "Are you implying that God was lazy?"

"_No_, you moron, it's scripture. God created everything in six days and rested the seventh day. That's why we have church on Sunday, and all that. It's the day that The Man, as you so eloquently called him, rested from his labors."

"But he's almighty," Falco argued vehemently. "What would he need a day of rest for?"

Vick was looking cross. "Look, dude, if you created everything from nothing in just six short days, you'd want a nap too, wouldn't you?"

"Anyway," Pit broke in smoothly, "back to the song. Seven swans a-swimming are the Seven Sacraments… Eight maids a-milking is a direct reference to the Eight Beatitudes."

"The eight whatsits, now?" the avian interrupted, flabbergasted, and Pit sighed impatiently.

"Okay, this could get long-winded, and I'm getting hungry," Vick broke in, and she turned fully to face Falco in an effort to get his attention. "The Eight Beatitudes are the opening sermon in the Gospel of Saint Matthew."

"I know of them," Blaze murmured a little timidly, and Vick fell silent so that Blaze could contribute what she knew to the conversation. "Silver and I once saw the musical _Godspell, _which is all about the book of Matthew. 'Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are the meek: for they shall possess the land. Blessed are they who mourn: for they shall be comforted. Blessed are they that hunger and thirst after justice: for they shall have their fill. Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy. Blessed are the clean of heart: for they shall see God. Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God. Blessed are they that suffer persecution for justice' sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.'"

Falco, never one for religion, couldn't help but smile. "Actually, that's kind of nice."

"It's one of my favorite verses," Vick told them, with a smile that radiated warmth.

"Here are the rest," said Pit, as the rest of the household gathered around in curiosity. "The nine drummers drumming are the nine choirs of angels; the ten ladies dancing are the Ten Commandments. The eleven pipers piping are the eleven apostles who remained faithful after the treachery of Judas… and the twelve lords a-leaping are the twelve basic beliefs of the Catholic Church as outlined in the Apostles Creed."

"Huh," said Falco wondrously, with a pensive expression on his face. "That's interesting. I had no idea that such a weird song had so much value to it." Then his face twisted into sudden realization and he added, "But I still want to know what the pear tree has to do with the whole damn thing."

And that's the story of how Pit and Falco discovered the historic and religious meaning behind the Twelve Days of Christmas via Google.


	3. December 3rd - Angel

December 3rd – Angel

Link was heading down the hallway for a drink of water at about two o' clock in the morning when he noticed that the light in Vick's room was still on. He padded close to the door as he went to pass and peeked in to find her knelt down in front of her open closet, which she appeared to be ransacking. Tentatively he rapped a few times on the door before easing it open a few more inches, but she waved him in readily enough and sat back on her heels.

"Er," he began lamely, running a hand through his mussed-up hair and yawning hugely. "What are you doing? Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"Yes, I know what time it is," Vick answered crossly, and turning her back on him she set to digging through the shambles of her closet again. Link quietly took note of her clothes, the same chic set she had been wearing the day before – had she been awake all this time? "I'm looking for something."

"The entrance to Narnia?" asked a voice behind them, and turning they saw Marth lingering in the hallway wearing nothing but a rumpled pair of black sweats. "Jesus you two are making a racket. What's going on? It's late."

Vick hardly seemed concerned that she had disturbed them; she tossed a pair of heels over her shoulder haphazardly, and Link narrowly sidestepped them as they flew by. "Well, invest in a pair of earplugs then. This is important, and I'm not giving up until I find it."

"What?" Marth pressed, rubbing his eyes, and it was clear that he wasn't awake by choice.

"My angel." Vick sat back on her heels again and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, flipping her sheet of silver-blonde hair over her shoulder as she gazed around at the wreckage of her bedroom. The plastic cabinet she kept in her closet loaded with keepsakes had been emptied and its contents were strewn about in no particular order; clothes had been torn off hangers and were scattered over her bed, and there were dozens of shoes littering the floor. Given how much Vick loved shoes, Link couldn't help but assume that whatever she was searching for was something of great importance.

"Angel?" Link repeated blankly.

"Yeah, for the top of the Christmas tree that I'm going to put up. I got it from Hallmark… it was hand painted and blown glass, really beautiful. I found it a few weeks ago and thought it would be perfect on the tree, but I can't remember where I put it and now…" Vick trailed off looking positively distraught, and Link knelt down and placed a hand on her shoulder comfortingly.

"Hey, come on," murmured Link, "we'll help you look for it, right Marth?"

He glanced back over his shoulder when the exiled prince didn't answer right away, to find that Marth was leaning against the doorframe and had one dark blue eyebrow raised dubiously. Link glared angrily at him in such a way that Marth knew he would likely be landing himself on the Hylian's bad side if he didn't comply, but after a moment's consideration he shrugged away from the doorframe and padded a pace or two nearer, saying, "I don't know, Link… I'm not sure that what she's got in mind is a good choice for this particular household, you know what I mean?"

"It's Christmastime," Link reminded in a steely voice. "If Vick wants an angel on the tree, she'll get an angel. Case closed."

But Vick was intrigued by Marth's words and shrugged off Link's hand, turning so that she could look Marth in the eye without craning her neck. "What _do_ you mean? Like, maybe an angel is a little too, I dunno, Jesus-y? You thinking maybe a star is a little less cliché?"

"It's not even that, really," Marth admitted, stroking his chin with one hand. "It's more that we're a pretty dysfunctional group of people in our own right and angels represent peace and harmony and unity and a bunch of other shit that isn't in our vocabulary… I don't think those are the sorts of ideals you want to promote in this household. The angel on top of the tree is what brings the entire thing together, right? So whatever you put in its place should be something that accurately represents everyone who lives here."

"I don't think they make tiny straitjackets for use as Christmas tree toppers," Vick laughed, her voice filled with a sort of guilt-ridden honesty, and Link cracked a reluctant smile.

"That's a little more dysfunctional than I had envisioned," laughed Marth, and he dropped down onto his hands and knees and started digging through her keepsakes as she thought through his words a little more seriously.

"…Yeah, they don't make Jack Daniels ones either… but I'm pretty sure if you gave me an empty bottle and a blowtorch I could make that happen."

By now Link was catching on. "So… something we're all into. Something we could all relate to."

"Yeah, exactly," said Marth, tossing shoes over his shoulders as he dug through the wreckage of Vick's bedroom. "Now the real question is, what represents everybody who lives here accurately enough to go on top of our Christmas tree? I'll be the first one to say it – this is a pretty diverse group we've got here."

Vick starting ticking things off on her fingers, her thoughtful gaze turned toward the ceiling. "Kirby likes stars… Sonic likes running shoes… Wolf likes guns…"

"Falco has sort of a weird fascination with how black he can make his liver," Link put in.

"What else?" Marth encouraged, and they put their heads together.

"Lucario is really into fast cars," Vick recalled. "Yesterday he watched _The Fast and the Furious_ again… That makes twice in the last three days."

"Yami collects Duel Monsters cards and _Playboy_ swimsuit calendars," Link confided with a little smile of embarrassment. "Biggest collection I've ever seen, honestly."

"I'm not putting a blow up doll on top of my Christmas tree," said Vick bluntly, and Link and Marth burst into muffled laughter for it was nearly three o' clock in the morning by now.

"Put it out in the front yard, that's a better idea," Marth choked out. "That way at least all the Christmas carolers will skip our house this year."

"Come on, guys, seriously!" Vick wailed. "It's twenty-two days 'til Christmas and I don't have anything to put on top of the tree! I haven't even gone to pick the tree out yet, I haven't chopped it down, I haven't put it up, I don't have the lights or the tinsel and I haven't unboxed any of the ornaments…" She trailed off and buried her face in her hands, her face the picture of despair, and Link shot Marth a look of pure desperation. "What am I gonna do?!"

Marth thought faster than he had ever thought himself capable of in Vick's mounting hysteria, casting his thoughts around for any random happenstance that signified any sort of shared affinity between them, and after a moment he recalled something from weeks previous. "Hey, do you guys remember Labor Day weekend this year? We had that freak thunderstorm that rained us out… The lake rose about fifteen inches in three days, and we were stuck inside during one of the biggest outdoor party weekends of the entire year?"

Vick looked up, her eyes slightly red. "I remember that. We didn't see the sun until the Wednesday after, and by then none of us could stand to be outside because we were so used to it being dark all day. We looked like vampires."

"Remember what we did to pass the time?" Marth baited.

Link shrugged. "We were all piss drunk. We played every indoor drinking game we know, three times. What's so special about that?"

But Vick knew what he was referring to right away. "We had movie marathons every day. Trashy movies on the SciFi channel the first day, Harry Potter marathon the day after, and superhero movies the last day." Her eyes got a little misty as she recalled, adding offhandedly, "The last day was my favorite."

"The last day was _everyone's_ favorite," Marth corrected. "Do you know why? Because we were watching shit like _Thor_ and _Iron Man_ and _The Avengers_ and thinking 'yeah, that's what I do in my spare time, only my gadgets aren't as cool and I'm not a Norse god and my makeup is never that perfect'."

"Amen," Link interjected, and Vick cracked a smile.

"Remember how Pit _insisted_ that he could out-shoot Hawkeye? What a riot, right?!"

"Yeah, and Falco shoved water balloons into his flight jacket and pretended to be Black Widow? That impression was a little _too_ uncanny if you ask me!"

"Oh, oh, and Wolf got so hammered that he admitted he'd have sex with Loki?!"

They were clutching their sides and breathless with laughter by then, and as Link was rolling on the floor and Vick was wiping tears from her eyes Marth suddenly recalled, "You know… I think I've got a Loki action figure somewhere in my room. No joke. Comes with the helmet and the scepter, the whole nine yards. We should go look for it."

Link and Vick exchanged a glance, and sudden comprehension dawned as devious smiles crossed both their faces.

And that's the story of how Marth, Link, and Vick decided that Loki should serve as the Christmas tree topper that year.


	4. December 4th - Holly

December 4th – Holly

There was a strange plant hanging from the back of Lucario's door when he woke up the next morning.

It wasn't that he minded it at all, for really it was quite lovely. The plant portion was a vibrant minty green with sprigs of leaves shaped like elongated teardrops branching from its skinny stalk, and nestled in the center was a little nest of small, bright red berries. The arrangement was delicate and very pleasing to the eye; he sniffed at it on his way out, quite taken by its strange yet dainty aroma, and smiling to himself he padded upstairs in the hopes that he hadn't missed breakfast.

There was bacon sizzling on the stovetop when he crested the stairs, and Kirby was flipping a few pieces over with a happy little chatter as his enormous chef's hat threatened to fall down over his eyes; Vick was in the kitchen with him, whisking eggs in a large white mixing bowl. She wore a pair of form-fitting, dark wash blue jeans over which she had donned a pair of fur-lined, knee high black riding boots, a red top with long, flared sleeves that partially covered her hands, and in her hair she had woven a few sprigs of the same strange vegetation that had shown up on his door together which she wore like a crown. He touched the small berries fondly as he passed, and she passed him a fresh pot of coffee with a smile.

_You certainly seem lively today,_ he told her, pouring himself a mug, and she pulled the skillet in which the bacon fried off the burner and dumped the strips onto a plate.

"Only twenty one days 'til Christmas!" she reminded him gleefully as she rinsed the grease down the drain. "Why wouldn't I be lively? Besides, I heard it's even supposed to snow later on this week. Did you hear that? _Snow_. I haven't seen snow in this area since I was a little girl. Can you _imagine_?"

She was handing the mixing bowl off to Kirby when Midna and Rosalina wandered in, followed closely by Marth and Pit; Kirby started scrambling the eggs with over-exaggerated movements as Vick popped the first few slices of bread into the toaster. As they were all helping themselves to coffee and juice, Rosalina took note of Vick's crown of leaves and berries. "That's so lovely… What is it?"

"This?" Vick touched the bright red berries gingerly with her fingertips. "It's holly! Don't you guys know what holly is?!"

"I do," Midna piped up from the kitchen table, where she was sipping carefully at a steaming mug of coffee. "It's a popular spell component that the Twili use. It has many uses. The leaves have medicinal uses, and the berries can make a powerful sedative when combined with thistle."

"You're walking around with drugs in your hair, essentially," Marth snickered, and they burst out laughing at her expense.

Vick's face reddened as Lucario had never seen it before – it was his first clue that perhaps the little red berries and their delicate, almost floral-like leaves had some deeper, as-yet-untold significance for her – but Rosalina came to her rescue right away. "I like it very much," she reiterated with a dazzling smile, looping one arm around Vick's waist. "Can you show me how to make one?" 

"Sure!" Vick's expression brightened right away, even as the toaster dinged. "Lucario, can you keep an eye on the toaster for me?"

_Of course_, he said with only a little puzzlement, and Vick allowed Rosalina to steer her out the door; once they were out of earshot Lucario turned to the breakfast table, where Midna, Marth, and Pit were still chuckling softly to themselves. _That was quite rude. Obviously the holly means something to her._

"Yeah," Pit laughed, "that she'll never need to fill a prescription for sleeping pills."

Lucario wasn't so sure. Gazing around the doorframe into the sitting room he watched as Vick sat cross-legged on the couch and braided sprigs of holly together with a practiced eye while Rosalina looked on, positively entranced; after a few minutes she had artfully strung together a lovely Christmas hair accessory for Rosalina, and with a flourish she set it upon the flowing sheet of Rosalina's pale blonde hair. He abandoned his seat at the bar long enough to reload the toaster, then meandered into the sitting room with his coffee mug in one hand.

_May I have one also?_ he asked good-naturedly, and Vick beamed back at him.

"I'll have to make it a little smaller on account of your ears, but it shouldn't be that hard…" Vick started weaving more holly leaves together, arranging the berries with great care, explaining just how she did it every step of the way to an enraptured Rosalina. Lucario watched her closely as she constructed a slightly smaller crown for him, marveling at the seriousness in her face and every little nuance that the less observant might have overlooked completely, and though the crown was obviously quite feminine he still let her place it lovingly upon his head when she was finished. He checked his reflection in the glass door in the entryway, through which sunlight was pouring and filling up the sitting room, and chuckled at the sight that met him.

_Lovely,_ he told her, ruffling her hair kindly. _But what is the significance of the holly_?

Her response was just what he had predicted – all the facts, none of the sentiment that was so evident in her face. Was she embarrassed? "It's a common Christmas decoration. You see it a lot on holiday greeting cards, and a lot of the wreaths have holly in them. That reminds me, I've got to get a wreath for the front door…"

_But is there a reason why the holly is so very important to you?_ Lucario pressed.

Vick opened her mouth hesitantly as though she meant to answer him, but from the kitchen there erupted another gale of laughter as Marth made a spectacular impersonation of a person falling asleep in the middle of breakfast; Lucario shot her an apologetic gaze, one hand reaching out for her, but her eyes were upon the floor then and she rose to her feet swiftly.

"Just remembered I haven't checked the mailbox this morning," she explained dully. "Back in a flash, okay?"

She seized her jacket and hurried out the door, leaving Lucario and Rosalina gazing after her with saddened expressions on their faces.

The air was crisp and very cold; Vick turned up the collar of her light suede jacket and hurried down the driveway, regretting that she had left her mittens in her bedroom that morning. The sun was so bright that it made her squint but she preferred it to the snow they were forecasted to get later in the week, even if it didn't warm things up much. She shuffled down to the end of the street where the mailboxes were lined up – her hands were half-frozen by the time she got there – and wasn't at all surprised to find that their mailbox was as empty as usual. It was never a good sign when they received something in the mail – since she had moved in with them over the summer Marth had received a notice that his credit card was maxed out, and their landlord had written asking them to explain why their backyard was constantly covered in blood.

With a little sigh of melancholy she put her back to the mailbox.

She nearly ran straight into Akabane Kuroudo.

"Jesus!" she exclaimed, clutching her chest as her heart hammered unpleasantly quickly against her ribs. "Are you out of your fucking mind?! Why can't you just announce your presence like a normal human being?! Why do you have to be so… _Dracula_ about it?!"

Akabane chuckled into the back of his hand, the thin white latex of his eerie surgical gloves a stark, almost startling contrast to his all-black attire. "My apologies."

"What do you want?!" she snapped inhospitably, which irked her even more for this was the first time she had seen him in a week or more and secretly she had missed him very much; he lifted one black eyebrow at the poison in her tone, and she stormed past him and started on her way back toward the three-story manor at the end of the lane. "Please tell me you at least have a halfway decent excuse for giving me a heart attack."

Akabane fell into step behind her silently, studying the aggressive set of her face and the tense way she held her shoulders. After a time he said bluntly, "The holly is of some importance to you."

"You heard everything?" she asked, exasperated.

"Of course," he said flatly. He heard everything, always, somehow.

"Christmas is my favorite holiday," Vick told him stubbornly.

"Something beyond that," Akabane insisted, and she rounded to face him furiously to find him gazing back at her introspectively. "Someone very dear to you once weaved you a crown just like this one and put it into your hair at this time of year." He reached out almost tentatively, ignoring her slightly affronted expression, and traced the delicate contours of the little leaves with exaggerated care. "And I think that whoever it was is no longer with you, am I correct?"

"How could you possibly know something like that?" Vick asked him softly, mystified, her expression softening with each syllable.

"I know you," he told her simply, and her shoulders slumped as the misery she had been trying so valiantly to hide came bubbling to the surface.

"My mom," she admitted at last, her eyes upon his well-polished black boots suddenly stinging with tears, and before she could stop them the words were springing forth like a burst floodgate. "I don't remember much about her… I can still remember the smell of the perfume she always wore, and I keep a bottle that I've never used on the days when I really feel her close to me. And I remember the holly. Christmas was her favorite holiday too… for the three years that I got to spend the holiday season with her before she died, she made Christmas magical for me. A little Christmas tree with lights and tinsel and ornaments and a cute little silver star… Walks in the park near our apartment so we could see everything lit up at night… Ice skating on the pond down the street… And a crown of holly in my hair, three years in a row. Holly is actually my middle name."

She didn't look up at the end of her confession, too embarrassed by all that she had said and still a little frightened of the man whose company she kept to look him in the eye while she was so obviously vulnerable; Akabane gazed down at her quietly, though, his fingers still tangled loosely in her hair and the sprigs of holly intertwined in the strands of pale silver. She didn't protest when those fingers increased their pressure ever-so-slightly, but understood instinctively this was a wordless sign that she should step closer; she stumbled uncertainly but didn't fall, and then Akabane wound his free arm around her and held her fast against his chest.

It was the first time since they had become acquainted that they had shared a moment quite like this one, and Vick was so stunned to find herself in this situation that she couldn't bring herself to react. Her arms hung limply at her sides as she fought stubbornly to keep anymore tears from falling but Akabane never said a single word of rejection; he just stood there with one hand upon her head, running his fingers alternately through the dainty leaves and the ripe berries and the fine strands of her lustrous hair, and said nothing. And as gradually Vick calmed down she found herself inhaling his scent curiously as if trying to commit him to memory – he smelled faintly of funeral incense, and the knowledge of it was terrifying, but not so terrifying that she wanted to pull away.

After a time he spoke. "Victoria Holly Ralis."

"Yeah," she muttered lamely. "What a weird hodgepodge of names. First name's Latin. Middle name's Old English. Last name's just a train wreck. Who even knows where that came from."

There issued a rumble from somewhere deep within his chest as Akabane chuckled, and then she swore she heard him mutter, "It's poetic." They stood there together for a moment longer until suddenly Akabane released her, and Vick shuffled back as quickly as she was able so as not to make him uncomfortable; when she had finally mustered up the courage to look him in the eye she was shocked to find the faintest touch of a smile upon his lips, and then he said something that rendered her momentarily speechless. "Make one for me."

Vick felt her eyes grow several times their natural size. "What?! You want a _holly crown_?! But the guys… Everyone has this image of you as this crazy badass, aren't you worried that they'll make fun of you?"

Akabane smiled wryly, as though he highly doubted that any of her friends would ever pluck up the courage to poke fun at him. "Not in the slightest."

"You'll look weird," she said bluntly, for it was true – this cold, aloof, merciless killer, all razor-sharp scalpels and a holly crown?

"Perhaps." Akabane crossed his arms and set off walking, a little faster this time, angling ever-so-slightly toward the front door of Brawlers Mansion. "Would you like to make it out here?"

They had reached the porch; Vick put out one hand and caught him at the elbow, stopping him in his tracks, and now there was a glint of glee in her eye. "No, I'll make it inside. Why don't you wait here? Some of the guys still can't be in the same room as you without needing a fresh pair of underwear, and I'm on laundry duty this week."

She dashed inside like a small child on Christmas morning, screaming, "Does anyone have a pin?!"

Her plan came together flawlessly and quickly when Rosalina assured her that she had one in her clutch, and using two sprigs of very fine holly Vick completed her next craft with the elegant, wintry plant. And with half of an avidly curious household at her heels she practically flew out the door with it in her hand as though she doubted she would still find Akabane standing there waiting for her; he hadn't moved an inch when she launched herself onto the front porch, and with steady, able fingers she fastened the little holly boutonniere to his breast with Rosalina's elegant silver pin.

"There," she said proudly, her face slightly flushed with pleasure. "Perfect. You don't really look like a crown sort of guy."

Akabane touched the fingers of his right hand briefly to the boutonniere with an expression that was almost a smile, and then fixed her with a very serious expression. "I shall wear it every day," he promised solemnly, "until Christmas." Then he tipped his hat to her and put her at his back, setting off down the porch steps and away down the lane.

Vick headed inside to warm her hands near the fire, her smile nearly taking in her ears.

And that's the story of how everyone finally learned Vick's middle name.


End file.
